How hot was it?
As the temperature soared in the TALONS classroom during today’s Socials test, I offered the following prompt on the board:
Best figurative language describing how hot it is in class gets +2 on the test.
Here are a few highlights:
The heat isolated us in discomfort, as if we were Mr. Unger living in Mexico, wrapped in Pink Panther Fibre Glass Insolation.
Being steam-cooked into a TALONS™ Dumpling isn’t cool.
The Last Best West Vacation for the Inuit!
The heat is so extreme that… I couldn’t compare it to anything.
The weather melts me like a slowly withering candle in the fire of a scorching hot dragon’s breath.
This class is as hot as a sweaty block of cheese after five days in our go-gear packs.
You know that one marshmallow that always manages to catch on fire when you’re making s’mores? I feel that the occupants of room 204 are the burned remains of that marshmallow. And we’re being burned again. [ps. If we bought 10+ new tents last year, and have 7 new iPad 2s, why can’t we buy a fan? Mr. J note: Indeed.]
The room is hotter than I was the night before today’s test when I woke up in a cold sweat after dreaming about what some of the questions might be.
The heat in this room is as hot as Mr. Jackson’s beard set ablaze by a stove on the third day of the Adventure Trip, as it illuminates the starry night.
The room is as hot as Tartarus in a large, boiling pot being cooked at an unimaginable temperature. It is almost as if the sun developed a personality of its own and is plotting revenge on the world with a raging passion. In addition, it is highly plausible that the TALONS room’s windows actually produce more heat for us to “enjoy” than doing the opposite. [ps. If anyone shows up at school tomorrow, call the police and inform them that the zombie apocalypse is underway.]
A few soft cookies doth sit united
as doth they bake in the oven of death.
The heavy heat fills the room unbearably like the incessant sound of steadily dripping water, gradually turning from a distraction into a means of insanity.
My insides heat up like a pot of boiling water left forgotten on the kitchen stove. It bubbles under the intense heat and the condensation becomes trapped against my forehead. There is no stovetop fan in this class, so the steam begins to settle, lining my fingertips with tiny pools of water. As the temperatures rise, we begin to wonder how much longer it will take for these pots to boil over.
The classroom is hot enough to melt people I have made contact with in the past.
It’s so hot that the test tube animals in the back room have come alive and jumped through the windows seeking fresh air.
There was also this entry, which wouldn’t be the same if transcribed: